


Not the Kind of Guy You Take to Prom

by htebazytook



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1998, First Time, Humor, Incest, M/M, Prom, Slash, Smut, Teenagers, Underage Sex, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gives Sam a few pointers on prom night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the Kind of Guy You Take to Prom

**Title:** Not the Kind of Guy You Take to Prom  
 **Author:** htebazytook  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Warnings:** incest, underage sex  
 **Disclaimer:** *disclaims*  
 **Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
 **Time Frame:** 1998  
 **Author's Notes:** first time fic  
 **Summary:** Dean gives Sam a few pointers on prom night.

 

Sam must have tried on every tie in the house. His tux doesn't fit right, too big in places and too small in others. His shoes are too tight. He's tried parting his hair one on side, then the other, then just given up and let it do its thing. Should he wear cologne, or would that be weird? He finds some amid the jumbled contents of Dean's all-purpose beside table drawer, but the last thing he wants is to smell like Dean at his sleaziest trying (but usually failing) to pick up college girls.

Someone jostling the front door snaps Sam out of his adolescent despair. His thought process sharpens, cataloguing the various household hiding places for guns and salt and everything else, but seconds later there's a knock and a shouted, "Sammy! Hey, venite adoremus, let me in already."

Sam breathes a sigh of relief. He walks to the door. "You just quoted a Christmas song. You said 'O come let us adore him' in Latin, nothing particularly damning – well, blessing, I guess – about it."

Muffled Dean bitches through the door: "That song is _about_ God or whatever though."

"Dominum," Sam says. "The word you're looking for is Dominum. Kind of. And hey, you're supposed to do the knock, man, you know that."

"Close enough. Let me in."

Sam leans against the door, folding his arms. The last time _Sam_ botched their Not An Evil Spirit protocol Dean had berated him for weeks afterward. "Yeah, not by the hair on my chinny chin chin."

"Well, yeah, you haven't got any, Sam. You’re a delicate little flower."

Sam sighs. He grabs a flask of holy water from the pile of keys and fake ID's and knick knacks by the door. "You're a dick," Sam tells him, unlocking the door and wiping the smirk off Dean's face with a satisfying splash.

" _Ugh_!" Dean blots his face with his leather jacket and glares at him.

Sam gives a guileless smile. "Where'd you go anyway?"

Dean laughs, throws his keys in the pile and triple locks the door before facing Sam again. "Where'd _I_ go? I thought you were staying for dinner at _Ana's_." Dean stretches her name out with an excess of sing-song syllables.

Sam draws in a deep breath. "Well, I'm back," he says. "And that was yesterday."

"Oh yeah. Well, whatever." Dean's already walking back to their room when he adds, "Oh and by the way what the fuck are you wearing?"

Sam follows him. "It's called a tuxedo. Say it with me – tux-ee-do."

"I've seen James Bond, Sam. Why are you wearing one?" Dean takes off his watch and throws it on the dresser, knocking some quarters off the edge in the process.

"For . . . " Sam bites the bullet. " . . . prom."

Dean's eyebrows climb.

"For prom," Sam repeats more confidently.

Dean snorts. "What, with Ana Device? Dude."

"I _like_ her," Sam defends.

Dean pushes Sam aside to hang his jacket up on the back of the door. "I mean yeah she's cute, but come on, Sam. You can do better. Look at that face!" He pats Sam's cheek patronizingly. "Cute as a goddamn button. Come on, take that stupid thing off and let's get a burger or something."

"I can't. She's gonna be here any minute."

Dean snickers, kicks his shoes in the corner. "Whatever, man." He plucks one of Sam's discarded ties (it has polka dots) from the floor and drops it again like it's a haunted object. "What. The _fuck_."

"Shut up."

"What's it doing on my side of the room, huh? Invisible line, dude!" Dean shakes his head and tosses the other ties onto Sam's bed crankily.

"What's wrong with Ana?" Sam demands.

Dean looks at Sam like he's just sprouted an extra head. "She likes 'N Sync, Sam," he says gravely.

"Just because you have a boner for _Brian_ and not JT - "

"Sam!" Dean is horrified. "The Backstreet Boys are _musicians_ , not freakin' performing monkeys with frosted tips. Jesus."

"Dean . . . "

"She's _weird_!"

Sam laughs. "I dunno if you've noticed but, uh, so are we . . . "

"Speak for yourself, man," Dean says, sitting on the edge of his bed and giving Sam his full attention now. "So they're letting geeks into prom now. What, did you guys have to pay a cover charge or something?"

"You went to prom."

"I only went to prom to get laid."

Sam draws himself up. Being taller than Dean these days doesn't make him feel any bigger. "Yeah, well. Well maybe that's why I'm going, too. I mean. I'm not some kinda prude."

"Oh I know, I've heard you beating off more times than I can count, but real life girls are a whole different ball game. There's a whole song and dance routine you've got to abide by if you expect to get into Ana's pants tonight, believe me."

"Uh, I'm not worried," Sam says flippantly, but he is the exact opposite of not worried. Who knew what Ana even expected? On the one hand Sam didn't want to freak her out, but on the other hand she wore mostly unbuttoned cardigans with just a bra underneath and touched Sam in the center of his chest when saying thanks for holding her books.

"Yeah, yeah, my mistake, you'll do fine," Dean lies. "Don't worry about it – everybody sucks their first time, so."

Sam's raised his eyebrows. "You sucked your first time?"

"Not in the way you're thinking of," Dean says cheerfully, and Sam is beset with sudden and distasteful visions of what he might mean by that. Dean laughs, pats the mattress next to him. "Come here."

Sam sits on the bed, eyeing Dean suspiciously. 

Dean sighs. "All right. I'll do it."

"Huh?"

"I'll show you the ropes," Dean reassures. Sam keeps frowning. "Tricks of the trade? Birds and the bees?"

"What."

"Come on, Sam, what are brothers for? You're still just a teenager."

Sam's frown is physically painful at this point. " _You're_ nineteen. And I don't want fucking . . . well, _fucking_ advice from you."

Dean ignores him: "It's all about the approach, Sammy. You've got to approach her with confidence, especially the first kiss. Panty dropping 101 – if you fuck up after a successfully executed first kiss you've got a better chance of her letting it go."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Is this gonna be on the test?"

"You wait til she gives you one of the signs," Dean continues. "Now, that could be your hair-twirling, your fake shy girl act, your come fuck me heels, whatever. Then you make your move. Don't ask if you can kiss her or something stupid like that – just pull her against you and go for it."

"And how many black eyes have you gotten that way?"

"Black eye to sex ratio weighs heavily in favor of the sex." Dean shrugs. "That's the price you pay."

"That's the price _you_ pay," Sam corrects.

"Now come on, quiz time – when do you make your move? Please list the three signs, and describe how to engage the female subject."

Sam shakes his head, incredulous. Whatever. "You uh, you hug her and kiss her, I guess. You wait til she's doing her hair or something? This is bullshit, by the way."

"No no no," Dean says. "You're a loser. You don't _hug_ a girl. At the _very_ least you passionately embrace her."

"What, like Fabio?"

"No! Just, here. Like this." Dean winds an arm around Sam's torso awkwardly. Sam doesn't budge. "Okay wait, you gotta lie down so I can be taller than you." He doesn't wait for Sam to respond before shoving Sam onto his back.

Sam raises an eyebrow as Dean lies down on his side next to him. "Who cares if I'm taller than you?"

"Well I'm not being the girl, that's for sure." Dean scoots closer to Sam, worms one arm uncomfortably underneath him.

"Okay, but _I'm_ not gonna be the girl when I'm with Ana, so this isn't helping."

Dean looks down at Sam and pulls Sam's body to his, and Sam has to admit it is awfully strong and confident and would help explain why so many otherwise intelligent girls hop into bed with him.

Dean must have seen it in Sam's eyes, because he chuckles and says throatily, "And then you kiss her. You know."

"Yeah." Sam's mouth is dry. "Like how?"

"Just . . . " Dean licks his lips, watches Sam's raptly. "Just kissing."

"Like a peck on the lips or like tonsil hockey?"

"Somewhere in-between."

"What's that even mean?" Sam becomes aware of how close they are, can taste Dean's breath from here. It feels warm like it never had been during bratty childhood scuffles or too-close-quarters in the back of Dad's Impala.

"I dunno," Dean says, barely done saying it when he leans in to show Sam what he means, stops just short of an actual kiss and looks at Sam cross-eyed.

Sam laughs, which reminds him of all the places their bodies are touching. There are a lot. "Okay, jerk, now can I finish getting ready?"

" _Are_ you ready? Have you even kissed _any_ girls before? Besides Molly, Queen of the Nerds, in 7th grade, of course . . . "

"We were just friends."

Dean tilts his head just barely, but it brings their mouths into contact so unexpectedly that it takes Sam's brain a minute to catch up, and then all he thinks is how soft it feels and how Dean's hips are pressed snug against Sam's belly and that this is a kiss, this is a real kiss.

Lewd wet sound as Dean detaches their lips. "Like that," he says, face and voice unreadable.

Sam's quickened breathing fills the pause. "What, no tongue?"

Dean's mouth quirks up before kissing him again, tracing the seam of Sam's lips with his tongue and coaxing them apart. He explores Sam's mouth languidly, moans when Sam sucks on his tongue, clutches Sam closer and now Sam can feel Dean's dick lengthening through his jeans.

Sam tears his mouth away, finding it difficult to think past the pounding of his heart. "Hold on, hold on. Dean."

Dean's voice is raspier than usual. "Yeah?"

"This is wrong, Dean."

Dean looks conflicted, gnawing his bottom lip and averting his eyes. He doesn't move, though.

"I'm not gonna be the girl with Ana," Sam clarifies.

Dean laughs. "Wanna bet?"

Sam breaks free of Dean's grip and shimmies up the bed. "Let's try this again," he says, and when he leans down for more kissing Dean meets him halfway.

Sam hadn't expected Dean to let him lead it this time, but his hot pliant mouth is a welcome surprise. Dean's head strains back as Sam kisses him deeper, hands fisting the fabric of Sam's tuxedo jacket and Sam wants to trap him. Wants to own him, just a little bit. Just enough to make him lose control.

Sam pushes Dean onto his back, Dean's arms twining tight around Sam's neck while they kiss and kiss.

Dean swoons factitiously. "You're such a stud. Wanna be the Rose to your Jack . . . "

Sam laughs, but any fleeting mirth sinks heavily back into arousal at the feel of Dean's mouth on his neck. Dean's deft fingers working Sam's tie off. 

"I've been _such_ a bad girl," Dean continues, which is a ridiculous statement considering the compellingly low-pitched velvet of his voice. "You better punish me real good, baby."

Sam captures Dean's wrists and twists them up above his head just to see Dean's eyes widen, which they do, and it's a lovely sight accompanied by a restless roll of his hips into Sam's. Sam wonders if this is how Dean looked for Sarah #1 and Sarah #2 and Elisabeth With an S and fuck them anyway, Dean was hard and grinning and enchantingly green-eyed under him.

They kiss for another dizzying spell until a distant door slam jolts them apart.

Dean blinks, trying to get his brain working again. "Dad?"

"Nah, he didn't use the knock. Vengeful spirit?"

"Could be."

Sam shrugs. Dean pulls him down by the front of his by now hopelessly wrinkled white shirt.

Dean grinds his hips up into Sam's, hooks a leg around Sam's calf to keep him there and keeps rutting against him and grunting. Sam kisses him the whole time because Dean's mouth is magnetic and Sam has never been so horny in his life. They move against each other disjointedly at first, but eventually Sam finds the right leverage, the right frequency of Dean closing his eyes and cursing. He can feel Dean's cock through the layers of clothes, and that's weird, but it's much weirder to have concrete evidence that Dean got messy and horny and desperate just like the rest of the world.

"Sam," Dean groans. "Sam you gotta keep doing that, you gotta – oh Christ, oh shit - _shit_ \- "

"Guess you're not a demon," Sam pants. "Whew."

Dean laughs. "You're a dork, what the fuck, shut . . . up . . . " Dean's head falls back, eyes fluttering and throat swallowing. "Keep doing that keep doing that keep doing that, _mm_ . . . " 

Sam is caught off guard by his own orgasm, stops thrusting against Dean and drowns in sudden bone-melting pleasure. He can't stay propped up anymore, collapses to the side and sighs and relishes the way his entire body throbs with the feeling.

The sound of a zipper gets Sam's attention, and when he opens his eyes again Dean has his cock out, is pumping it roughly with his face scrunched up in concentration. The heave of his chest, the twitch of tendon in his arms and neck, the sight of his thick cock and the sound of his shallow breathing. Sam is immobilized, stares ravenously and thinks he'll be obsessed with Dean probably forever.

Dean climaxes with two sharp grunts and his come splattering on his T-shirt. He stays tense for a minute before relaxing back into mattress, exhaling heavily. The bed smells like Dean and like sex, and Sam's veins have been replaced by rivers of bliss. Sam closes his eyes and listens to their breathing slow. He feels more at home than he has in a long time.

That is, until the doorbell rings.

"We have a doorbell?" Dean mutters. "Huh."

 _Oh._ Sam sits straight up. "That's her. It's Ana, it's gotta be. _Shit_!"

Dean doesn't move when Sam scrambles to his feet. Sam gets a look at them in the mirror above the dresser – Dean lounging cavalierly on the bed with a contented smile on his face, Sam with disheveled hair and clothes, tie-less and hapless.

Dean stretches. "Better get a move on Romeo," he says. "And uh, change your pants, dude."

*


End file.
